


Worth the World

by unsettled



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (Tony doesn't die), Embarrassment, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Fluffuary, Guilt, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter's 18, Presents, Showing Off, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29671407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: Valentine’s Day is not Peter’s favorite holiday by a long shot. And it’s not just because he’s a little jealous of everyone else showing off gifts from their partners.But it’s still really nice that an unknown someone sent him a gift this year. Or two. Or— okay, this is getting out of hand.(Prompt: Flowers)
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 186
Collections: Fluffuary 2021





	Worth the World

Valentine’s Day.

Ugh. 

Peter sighs. Without a doubt, this is his least favorite holiday. It’s just…

It’s not, as MJ would say, because it’s an over commercialized performative display of hetronormative romance (or something like that; he might have gotten it jumbled up a bit). It’s not even that he doesn’t have—and never has had—someone to spend it with, like Ned tends to suggest. Though that sucks too. 

It’s watching his classmates get flowers and silly singing telegrams and cakes, watching them wander around the rest of the day with balloons trailing behind them and juggling their gifts, everyone seeing it. He’d said as much to Tony—Mr. Stark—a few days ago when he’d apparently been too mopey to be ignored. Which is kinda embarrassing.

He hadn’t known how to really explain the difference between being sad not to get anything and not being sad he didn’t have anyone. It— he would have been just as happy if May sent him something silly; it was about people knowing. It was— kind of selfish, really. No matter how he stumbled around trying to say it, it just sounded bad. In the end, he’d settled for saying it was about wanting to feel normal again, for a little bit. 

He knows Tony doesn’t think much of that. 

It doesn’t really matter. Peter’s never gotten anything before, and it’s not like that’s going to change just because it’s his senior year. 

Most of the teachers have given up on getting anything real done during Valentine’s Day, with all the interruptions, but not Mrs. Powell. She’s right in the middle of drawing on the whiteboard—and as far as Peter is concerned, first period is too early for trig--when someone knocks on the door. First delivery of the day, looks like. He stares out the window; at least he doesn’t have to think about math for a few minutes.

“Peter Parker?”

Honestly, it doesn’t even register for a moment. It’s not until Ned pokes him in the side that Peter’s brain stutters back out of shocked white noise and starts running again. “Uh,” he says. “That’s me? I mean, I’m Peter Parker.” 

Someone giggles. 

The lady delivering just smiles at him though. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she says, and hands him a tall, slim vase, with just one perfect, dark red rose. Peter stares at it. 

Ned elbows him again. “Who’s it from?”

There’s no tag, no note, nothing. “I don’t know,” Peter tells him. “It doesn’t say, so…”

“Oooo,” Flash says. “Parker’s got a secret admirer. Yeah right; you probably sent it to yourself.” Peter can feel how hot his face is and it probably just makes him look really guilty, but he didn’t. Not that he can prove it.

“Back to the reason you’re _actually_ here,” Mrs. Powell says sharply, “maybe Flash can tell us the formula we need to use here.”

Peter has no idea if Flash gives the right answer or not, because he can’t stop staring at the rose. Can’t stop thinking, his mind spinning too fast. 

Someone sent him a gift. 

Part of him is still running through possible gift givers; not MJ, surely not. He can’t even imagine that. Ned’s heard him sigh about getting nothing plenty, but there’s no reason he’d do something now. May? Maybe, and he can totally see her forgetting to even include a note. 

Maybe, he thinks with a sudden swoop of his stomach, it’s a prank. Please don’t let it be a prank. Maybe— maybe there actually is someone who likes him. Maybe there is. 

But even with all that running through his mind, it’s background noise to the single, enormous feeling of actually getting a gift for Valentine’s Day, in front of everyone. 

It’s really nice. 

No one pounces on him in the hall between classes to yell ‘gotcha!’; he gets a few looks and a few smiles, but nothing suspicious. Maybe it really is for real. 

Second period, Mr. Jackson doesn’t even try. Just puts on a movie and grades papers while everyone gossips as other deliveries start arriving, flowers and a teddy bear with candy and a singing telegram, and Peter is no longer the only one drawing attention, thankfully. It was nice getting it early in the day, though. 

“Mr. Parker?”

It— it can’t be. He misheard. Right? 

He raises his hand, slowly. 

A gold box is deposited on his desk, all fancily embossed and no label. No note. 

“Well?” Peter looks up, startled; he hadn’t even heard MJ scoot over in front of his desk. Well, it’s not like Mr. Jackson is paying attention, though it feels like everyone else is. “Are you going to open it?”

“Um,” Peter says. “Yeah, I— I guess? What if it’s like, a glitter bomb?”

MJ looks at him like he’s lost a few marbles. “Ooookay,” she says. “You’ll still have to open it eventually.” 

True. “Well, here goes,” he mutters, and lifts off the top. 

It’s chocolate covered strawberries. Really fancy ones, all decorated and different colors and some are even rolled in stuff. They smell amazing, not kind of artificial like a lot of strawberries do. Not that it’s something he noticed before the bite, but—

“Not glitter,” MJ says, and Peter laughs a little. This is crazy. “No note?”

Maybe they _are_ from her? “Nope,” Peter says. “Uh, you want one?”

They taste pretty amazing too. He ends up sharing them with a couple other people; there’s at least two dozen of them and while he probably could eat them all before they got mushy, he’s pretty sure he’d feel sick. 

He catches Ned in the hall after class. Gives him a strawberry too and takes a couple minutes to freak out at him before third period, because neither Ned or MJ share it with him. “Are you really, really sure it’s not MJ?” Ned asks him.

“I mean, does it even seem like something she’d do?” He doesn’t think so, but then— he might be wrong. 

Ned barely considers it before he shakes his head. 

Third period brings reading Hamlet out loud and a dozen roses. 

They’re lighter than the first one, with a dark yellow center. Really, really pretty, and he gets a couple people ‘awwing’ over them. He still has no clue who is sending these. This is nuts. It’s just— it’s straight up crazy. No one else has gotten more than one delivery yet, and he’s gotten _three._ Who is it? 

He pulls the first rose out of its vase and tucks in the center of these roses, trying to ignore the way a bunch of his classmates are looking at him and giggling. It stands out against the lighter ones; Peter bites his lip.

Please don’t let this be some elaborate prank, he thinks. He can’t really imagine why someone would put this much effort into it—and money, roses aren’t cheap for Valentine’s Day!—just to make fun of him, but then he doesn’t really understand why people started making fun of him in the first place. 

Maybe it’s Flash. He wouldn’t care about the cost and he’d probably love to humiliate Peter in a big, showy way. 

Ned’s mouth drops open when he sees Peter carrying this newest gift. “Wow,” he says. “This is crazy.”

“That’s what I said!” 

He can’t concentrate even a little bit during fourth period. Ned keeps looking over at him every time Peter’s leg starts jittering again, but he can’t help himself. He feels nearly sick with nerves, waiting for whatever is next. Because three times— three times is a pattern. Three times means there’s almost definitely going to be a fourth. 

There is. 

This time it’s a box, a little bigger than his hand. He’s pretty sure this one isn’t a glitter bomb either, but he still hesitates. 

Stares, once he’s opened it. “Dude,” Ned says, craning over. “What is it?” 

“Uh,” Peter says, tilting the box so Ned can see too. “It’s a watch.” A really fancy looking watch; it’s not flashy, not like some of the really crazy watches Peter’s seen Tony wear, but sleekly elegant. Slim and dark and just— pretty. Something Peter could actually see himself wearing. 

“Is that a Piguet?” Flash says behind him and Peter startles. “Seriously? When did you nab yourself a rich sugar Sir?” He eyes Peter, a slow once over. “How? I mean, come on, Parker.” 

He says it all loud enough that people are staring, of course, and Peter’s face is so hot it hurts. “That’s not—” he says, “I’m not— I don’t! They’re not that kind of gifts!”

“Like you know anyone that could afford something like that,” Flash says before he saunters off. Why is he such a _dick?_

“You’re not though, right?” Ned says, much quieter. Peter gives him a betrayed look and Ned holds up his hands. “I don’t think you would!” Ned says. “It’s just. Really weird, that’s all.”

“I know,” Peter says, staring down at the watch, and a little of the excited, pleased shine has been rubbed away by Flash making things all… sordid. For second, he almost just closes the box and shoves it in his backpack, but— no. No, he’s not going to do that. 

It fits like it was made to measure, and it looks good on him too. 

MJ shares fifth period with them; “So?” she says. “Was there more?” Peter holds up his wrist and MJ’s eyebrows rise. 

“Wow,” she says. “That’s actually really nice looking. I was kind of hoping for something flashier.” 

Peter glares at her. “This whole thing is flashy,” he mutters, but even if he’s feeling pretty embarrassed… he’s kind of enjoying it too. 

“Bets on what’s next?” MJ asks Ned. Ned shakes his head. Peter doesn’t say anything, but he’s pretty sure it’s going to be flowers again. 

Maybe he should have bet, because he’s right. It’s roses again, two dozen of them, a slight lighter red than the first, and every single petal is edged with gold. Not like, yellow flower color gold, but literal gold foil or paint or something; it actually shines under the light. 

Ned and MJ stare at them in silence right alongside him. “Well,” Mj says eventually. “That’s— flashier.” 

“But like, classy,” Ned says. “I wonder if that’s real gold. That’d be crazy, right? Can’t be.” 

Peter would almost be willing to bet it is. 

He’s really, really wishing he had the first clue what’s going on. 

He needs help carrying them to lunch, so Ned takes the smaller vase. (Okay, he could have carried them all but he would have had to sticky something and it might look weird.) He’s already getting plenty of attention; the glances and smiles from earlier have turned into stares and whispers, and in the cafeteria there’s all the other grades that haven’t seen things delivered. Peter kind of wants to hide out in the library for lunch or something, but he’s _hungry._ At least he can have a little break, right?

Wrong. So wrong. Because it seems like the second they set Peter’s flowers down, there’s a polite throat clearing behind him. 

Peter turns, and there’s a guy with a bunch of bags. “Um. Hi?” 

“Are you Peter Parker?” When Peter nods, the guys nods too and steps past him to put the bags on their table. They stare as he starts pulling out container after container after container, and there’s a noticeable hush at the tables around them, more and more people watching. 

“This is a new one for me,” the guys says, casually. “Never thought of doing something like this for Valentine’s? But I might steal the idea for myself, next year. Anyway. Happy Valentine’s Day; enjoy!” 

Peter pries open a container and the most amazing smell wafts out. His stomach straight up growls. “I… I guess this is lunch?” he says. Takes another look at the pile of containers. “Lunch for all three of us, actually.” 

“I am dying to know who is doing this,” MJ says, opening another container, and Ned’s not wasting any time either. 

“You and me both,” Peter says.

“Seriously,” Ned says and passes him a tray. “You don’t have any ideas at all?”

Peter shakes his head. 

The food is good; scratch that, the food is amazing. Somehow everything is hot and nothing is soggy and every single thing is something Peter likes. There’s a soup in particular that makes Peter nearly moan when he takes the first bite. 

It’s… familiar? How— why does he know this dish? Where has he had it before?

He closes his eyes when he takes the next bite and tries to stop thinking for a second. Not very successfully, but it doesn’t matter because the memory hits him like a brick. 

He’s had this in Tony’s workshop. 

Peter doesn’t know the name of the place—though he’s pretty sure it’s a lot closer to Stark Tower than it is to his school—but he knows this dish. Tony orders in food for them pretty often and this had shown up once and Peter had eaten every bit of it. Had been really obvious in how much he liked it, because it showed up several more times without Tony ever saying a word about it. 

No one else would know that. 

“Peter?”

He looks up; Ned’s frowning at him. “You okay?” he says. “You were just staring at your food for ages.” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, his mouth dry. “Yeah, uh, I’m fine. I’m— yeah, fine.” He makes himself start eating again, but as amazing as it tastes he’s barely registering it, because Tony sent this. Tony _had_ to have sent this. There’s no way someone else would just choose this out of the way, definitely does not deliver here restaurant, or this specific meal. And if Tony sent this, it means Tony sent everything else too. 

Peter’s doesn’t know what to do with that fact. Theory. No, fact. 

Tony sent him— why? Why would he do this? What possible reason could there be? It’s just— it’s crazy. Peter’s pretty sure it’s not a joke, even if Tony finds it funny, but that only makes it harder to understand. 

Is it pity? Did he hear Peter complaining about not getting things and decide to fake someone being into him so Peter wouldn’t feel left out? Does he feel _sorry_ for Peter? 

Was he ever going to tell Peter it was him, or just let him keep wondering forever? 

He can’t wait for school to be over now, because he needs answers.

Fifth period, he knows exactly what to expect, and Tony—probably Tony, 99% sure Tony—doesn’t disappoint. Roses, more roses, over two dozen for sure but Peter’s not counting, white with dark, dark red edges. Roses, and every time Peter ever smells roses again he’s going to think of this; he doesn’t know if that makes him want to cry or not. 

Because even if Tony isn’t doing this for a laugh, or out of pity, he’s not doing it because he actually is interested in Peter like that. 

And Peter desperately, desperately wishes he was. 

By the time sixth period comes around, everyone in class knows that Peter Parker is (supposedly, thanks Flash) getting a gift every hour from his sugar Sir, and everyone is watching him, just waiting for what’s next. Peter hunches his shoulders and puts his head down and gets more and more tense as the minutes tick by and nothing appears. 

It’s not until the last ten minutes of class that the gift is delivered, late enough that Peter had started to hope that maybe that was it. This gift comes in another box, about the same size as the watch box but slimmer. Peter takes a deep breath before he opens it. 

Snaps it shut a minute later, before Ned’s even had a chance to lean over. 

Oh, god. 

“Peter,” Ned hisses. “What is it? Come on, man. Why do you look like that?”

Peter shakes his head; leans over and whispers in Ned’s ear. “It’s a key,” he says. “A— a _car_ key.”

Ned’s just as wide eyed as Peter feels. “They got you a car?” Ned whispers back.

“I think so?” Peter says. He doesn’t know what else to think about the key and fob in the box. Or the little card tucked in with them: _Don’t worry, FRIDAY has the wheel until I get the chance to show you some real driving._

He guesses Tony isn’t trying to hide after all. Oh my god, Tony got him a car. Probably a ridiculously expensive, ridiculously fast, ridiculously flashy car, and Peter doesn’t even know how to drive. Not really. Stealing Flash’s car doesn’t count for much. What is he going to do with a car? Where is he going to keep a car?

What is Tony thinking? 

He knows what he wishes Tony is thinking, as impossible and hopeless as it is. Because it is. It is, utterly and completely, no matter how Peter wishes this was Tony wanting to… to court him, in his usual over the top way. No matter how much Peter wants to think that this might actually mean something, it doesn’t. He knows that. 

“You still don’t know who it is?” MJ whispers, and it’s really unnerving the way so many people are staring at them. 

“Uh,” Peter says. “Actually—” He sighs. “It’s Tony.” 

For a minute, she doesn’t get it. “Tony— wait. Are you. You mean. Really?” 

“Does that mean you’re, you know,” Ned says, making vague gestures. “Together?”

“What? No! Of course not!” 

“So he just… does this sort of thing?” MJ asks.

“I don’t know,” Peter says. “I guess? I don’t know what he’s thinking.” 

“Does he even get that it’s super weird?” Ned says, and Peter shrugs. Everything Tony has been involved with that included Peter has been pretty weird. Where is this supposed to fall on that scale? 

Seventh period lasts forever, Peter resenting every second. He’s almost free. He’s so close to escaping and being able to ask Tony what the fuck is going on. Just half an hour. Just twenty minutes. Just—

“Peter Parker?”

No, no no no. 

He puts his hand up and his head down, and when he lifts it again, there are roses _everywhere._ Dozens and dozens and dozens, every one of them the dark red of the very first one. How many are there? Did Tony buy out an entire florist? What is he thinking? What is Peter going to do with all of them? He doesn’t even know how he could get them home. 

This is a nightmare; Peter puts his head back down and groans.

MJ laughs softly, and when he looks at her she’s sort of petting one of the roses. “He’s really going for some grand gesture thing, isn’t he,” she says. 

If Tony was— if _Peter_ was— if they were actually together, or if Peter believed for a second this was leading there, this would be incredibly romantic. Really, really excessive and ridiculous, but still. Really romantic too. And Peter would still be blushing so hard he almost thinks it’s never going to fade, but he’d also be so— 

So happy. 

Instead, he just wants to cry. 

Miss Ahuja gives him permission to leave most of them in her room for a few hours, until he can figure out what to do with them, so Peter just takes the gold tipped ones and the yellow and red ones and the very first one with him. 

And almost runs right into Happy when he comes out of the classroom. 

“I— Happy?” Peter says, because this day just keeps getting weirder. 

“Hey, Peter,” Happy says. “I was told to help you carry stuff to the car. What kind of stuff are we talking about? Why can’t you get it all?”

“Um,” Peter says. Leans back and pushes the classroom door open; Happy pokes his head in and sighs. “Wait, the car?”

“So it’s like that,” Happy says, whatever that’s supposed to mean. “Alright, kid. Got any friends to help out?” 

“Yeah, um, Ned, can you—” and Ned’s already grabbing a vase, MJ right behind him. “Seriously though, the car?”

“The car,” Happy says. “Which I need the keys for. What?” he says when Peter frowns. “Tony had the thing dropped off, I guess.” 

“Right,” Peter says. “Because that makes perfect sense. Why would he—” He sighs. “Right. Keys.”

“Could be worse,” Happy says while Peter digs out the box and hands it to him. “Could be a giant bunny.”

“A— a what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

The car is not what Peter was expecting. Okay, he’s sure it’s incredibly expensive and fast, but it’s not flashy. At least, not overtly so, like a lot of the cars Tony drives. It’s silver and sleek and a convertible, so at least there’s still something wholly impractical about it. It takes them three trips to bring out all the roses and they completely fill the backseat, Peter having to stick a vase down by his feet as well. 

“Where am I taking you?” Happy asks. “Home? May’s going to have fun with this.”

Oh no. No. “Actually,” Peter says, “could you maybe take me to the tower? I, uh. Think I need to talk to Ton— Mr. Stark.” 

Happy snorts. “Going to read him the riot act, huh? Good luck with that. Not that he doesn’t deserve it,” he adds, looking over his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Peter says, weakly. “Yeah, that.” 

It festers inside him on the drive, this awful little fragment of hope that’s been growing ever since lunch. This tiny voice that keeps saying, what if he does? What if he is? What if he feels something? 

It a really stupid voice and a stupid idea, but he has to ask something. Even if he can’t come out and ask it straight up, he has to at least ask _something._

“Good luck,” Happy says when Peter climbs out. Pats him on the back. “Keys’ll be in the side pocket when you’re done.” Peter nods, not really paying any attention. 

Tony’s in the workshop. Of course he is. 

For a minute—for two, three, four, and FRIDAY doesn’t say anything so it’s okay—Peter just watches him, and wants. 

Tony notices him eventually, like he always does, even when he’s in the middle of something. “Hey!” he says. “How’s it going, kid?” He grins, slow and obviously pleased with himself. “Have a good day?”

Peter walks a little closer to him. “I— I had a really weird day,” he says. “Um. I mean, thank you? That was— really—” Words fail him and he waves his hands around vaguely; he doesn’t even really know what he’s trying to say.

“Oh, you’re wearing it,” Tony says. “Good, here— lemme show you something. Right, so, tap the face three times and then turn the outer ring clockwise.” Peter does, because at this point, why not. 

There’s a click, and then a moment later the watch is unfolding itself, spreading up his arm and down his palm. Is turning into a variation on his web-shooters. Peter stares at it.

“It doesn’t pack quite the punch your usual ones do,” Tony says, “but it’s easier to keep on hand all the time. Hopefully you can wear this anywhere without raising eyebrows, and it’ll be closer to hand then the nano ones even.”

Everything Tony has done today has been excessive and over the top and way, way too much, but this— this is the thing that breaks Peter. This is the thing that makes it obvious, makes it so, so obvious, that Tony put thought into this. That Tony didn’t just do this on a whim or for a laugh. 

Right?

“Tony,” Peter says, slowly. “What— what exactly did you mean, with all this?” 

“What did I mean?” Tony says, just as slowly, confused. 

“Was it— was it a joke? Or—”

“No!” Tony says, cutting him off. “God, no, it’s not a joke. Peter— shit. I just. You sounded so down about being invisible for Valentine’s, and I thought— that, that you could have something nice for it. Should have something nice for it. And I could fix that? I—” He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “I wanted to give you a nice day. And— a little flex, you know? Since you have to hold yourself back so much already, I thought— why not show them someone thinks you’re worth the world?” 

“Oh,” Peter says.

“I fucked up,” Tony says, “didn’t I. I’m sorry. I should have just— was it awful?”

“You didn’t— no,” Peter tells him, and he means it. “No, it wasn’t awful. It was nice, I did have a nice day. It’s just…”

“I know,” Tony says. “Too much.” 

Yeah, but. If they were— 

Peter liked it. 

“So,” he says. “It was because you wanted to be nice,” and it’s so, so hard to force the next words out. “Was… was that it? All it was?”

Tony hesitates, looking at him. “Yes?” he says. “Was— is there something else it should have been?”

He was wrong. He knew it, he _knew_ it and yet it still felt like a weight sinking right down though his chest, into his stomach. “No,” he says. Shakes his head. 

“Peter,” Tony says. “Was there something else you thought it was?” And, a moment later, when Peter can’t quite bring himself to say anything but can’t quite manage to leave either, “Was there something you wanted it to be?”

He should say something. He should say something, because roses and watches that turn into web-shooters and Tony wanting people to think someone loved Peter. He should— “It’s just,” he says. “It’s. You know. Valentine’s Day. I thought— I hoped—” No, that’s not right. 

“I wanted it to actually be because you—” God, he’s so terrible at this. 

“Kid,” Tony says so softly, and this is where he tries his hardest to let Peter down gently, isn’t it. “Come here, will you?” 

There’s no point in saying no, so Peter goes to him. Comes even closer when Tony gestures him forward, and then Tony reaches out and sets his hand on Peter’s hip and pulls him a step closer, until Peter’s standing between Tony’s legs. There’s a faint flutter of hope trying to rise up again, and Peter tells it to fuck off. This isn’t that. 

“I’d be lying if I said that hadn’t occurred to me,” Tony says, and Peter stares at the casing on Tony’s chest, unable to look higher. “I’d— I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t on my mind while I was deciding what to get you, that I haven’t— haven’t thought of you like that. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

He’s not hearing this right. He can’t be. 

“I couldn’t do that to you, Peter,” Tony says, and he sounds tired. “It’s more than a little fucked up for me to even be interested, much less act on it. I don’t— you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and I don’t want you to end up damaged in the ways this sort of shit can. You don’t need that living in your head forever, don’t need me dragging you down.”

He is hearing this right. What the fuck. He is— and Tony is— 

“Why are you so sure it’s going to go so wrong?” Peter asks. “It doesn’t have to?”

“It does,” Tony says. “It will. It— it always does, Peter. There are some gaps you just can’t bridge. And when it’s your first, it doesn’t ever really fade. It just. It doesn’t. I don’t want you to end up like—” 

He sighs, and Peter finally looks up. Tony looks as miserable as Peter feels. “I want you to be better than me, kid.” 

Peter thinks. Chews on his lip and takes his time because he has to do this right, he has to say this right, and Tony gives him that time. Just waits, quietly watching him, his hand burning on Peter’s hip. 

“You keep saying what I don’t need,” Peter says finally. “And what you want, and like. I know you don’t think I’ll make smart decisions, and I know you want to protect me, but… why can’t I know what I need? What about what I want? For once, can I get to choose what happens to me?”

Why does everyone always think they know what’s better for him than he does? Maybe he’s still a teen, but he’s not stupid. 

Tony’s pulled back a little, looking at him closer. “Alright,” he says, after what feels like ages. “What do you want?”

Maybe— maybe he can hope. “Can we try?” Peter asks. “For a little? At least see what happens? Because—” He swallows, hard. “Because I really want this, even if you think it’s a bad idea.”

“I just don’t want you to do something you’ll end up regretting.”

“Well,” Peter says, “that’s kind of already happened. A lot. So.” 

The silence goes on and on and on, neither of them moving, and Peter doesn’t know what else to say. 

So he ends up just blurting out the next thought in his head, like an idiot. “Would you— would you kiss me? Please?”

He doesn’t think it’s going to happen, even when Tony’s hand settles against his cheek, even when Tony leans in, even when Tony’s lips are almost on his. It doesn’t seem possible that it’s happening, but it is, and oh, fuck, it’s so good. It’s soft and barely more than brushing their lips together and even so, when Tony pulls back Peter sways after him, this tiny noise catching in his throat.

If the first one was good, this kiss is mindblowing, Tony’s lips opening under his and his tongue against Peter’s and his arms around Peter, pressing them together. Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s neck and clings, moans into Tony’s mouth and wishes he didn’t have to breathe. 

“Jesus, Peter,” Tony whispers. “You can’t make noises like that, or I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

“Don’t,” Peter says, trying to tug him back. “Don’t bother. I don’t even want you to.” 

Tony laughs and while Peter could make him get closer, he doesn’t want to use his strength like that. 

“Okay,” Tony says, “so I knew it was a bad idea the second I bought it, and I didn’t think I was ever actually going to be able to give it to you, but I got you another gift.” Peter kind of doesn’t care all that much, but if Tony’s telling him now, there’s probably a reason. 

“It’s over there,” Tony says, nodding at a different desk, and when Peter—very reluctantly—steps away to go there, Tony’s right behind him.

There’s a flat, rectangular box on the table, black, about as big as Peter’s laptop; it’s surprisingly light when he picks it up. 

Inside, there’s this— this pale, pale pink, almost white, thing. This thing that’s all mesh and lace and a lot of straps and Peter’s not even really sure how it should go on, but his breath catches anyway with how hard and fast the _want_ hits him. 

“Please,” Tony says, pressed right up against his back, his chin on Peter’s shoulder. “Please tell me if this is too much, too fast, but I’m thinking you could go upstairs and put that on, so I can take it right back off. Yes? No?”

Peter can’t breathe. He nods, over and over, vigorously, and Tony laughs against his neck. “You want to try that in words, baby?”

 _Baby,_ Peter thinks, his brain completely short circuiting. “Yes. Yes,” he manages eventually, “I could absolutely do that. I would really really like to do that. I would _love_ to do that.”

Tony sucks in a breath, and Peter can feel how he shudders, clinging a little tighter to Peter for a moment. “Okay,” Tony says, so softly Peter’s not even sure it was meant for him. “Good.” He steps back. “I’ll see you soon.”

Peter picks the box up; makes it halfway to the door before he gathers enough courage to stop, to turn back and say “Tony?”

Tony’s head snaps up, and he looks worried. 

“Don’t take too long.”

There’s a second where Tony’s eyes just go wide, and then he’s smiling, grinning, growing slowly across his face. It’s so much happier than he’s looked since Peter showed up, and it feels— it feels incredible to know he made Tony smile like that. He made Tony happier. 

He’s going to make Tony feel a lot of things. He’s sure of it.


End file.
